As In Dreams
by Taffia
Summary: A galaxy redeemed. A hero sacrificed. But light-years away and lost, Garrus and the others face unknown challenges and too many unanswered questions. The dreams of Shepard only make it worse, and a discovery leaves all of reality shaken.
1. Chapter 1: Planet Normandy

_Chapter One: Planet Normandy_

He couldn't stop the dreams. He was even pretty sure that they were getting worse. Maybe it was the food. Three weeks on this forest-covered rock, and he was still restricted to whatever turian field rations remained in the Normandy's cargo. Despite EDI's prodding to "try the fish—they're a curious consistency with an intriguing flavor," he didn't want to risk it.

He didn't even feel hunger the same way anymore, and he was sure that was feeding the nightmares. No. Not nightmares. They didn't frighten him or fill him with dread. They were more like memories...memories meshed with now-abandoned aspirations. Shepard was in every one, dark haired and smiling. No Reapers. No Cerberus. Just her living a life she would never know.

Garrus sat straight-backed against the tree trunk. His favorite rifle was caught in his grip, subject to being cleaned for the third time that morning. Its surface was marred by scratches left by a Marauder on Palaven, the withered husk of someone he had probably once known. A former comrade. Maybe even a friend. He traced the jagged lines with his fingers. His stomach twisted at the tangle of thoughts that would probably always eat at him.

Where were they?

What happened to Earth?

To the others?

What of Palaven? Tuchanka? Sur'Kesh?

Why was EDI even _eating_? She didn't have the hardware for that kind of thing.

Or did she?

He looked down at his hand—probably for the thousandth time since they got here—squinting to make out the faint tracings that wove along his carapace. He felt different. They all felt different. Joker limped less. EDI could eat and feel sensations other than hot and cold. James-

"Yo, _jefe_!"

Garrus' eyes shot up at the voice, the deep green coming to focus on the broad form of James Vega as the soldier came plowing through the underbrush. The turian's danger sense never really diminished after the war with the Reapers, but the same could not be said for the younger human. Vega had sobered since Mars, sure, but the time spent on this planet had lessened his caution. He almost treated it like a vacation. Either that, or it was his own way of coping with the undeniable truth that they didn't know where they were...and neither did the rest of the galaxy.

"You are not going to believe what I found in the Loft. Did you even know about this?" He held out a data chip that looked too big for an omni-tool but too small for a terminal. "I figured that, if anyone would want to see it-" James hesitated, his boisterous demeanor trickling away. It was first evident in his eyes as the deep brown caught the light. There was the glisten of tears, perhaps, but it was impossible to tell. He recovered quickly. "If anyone would want to see it, it would be you."

He pulled a black box out of his belt pouch, a smooth thing of plastic and metal with a glass circle on the top, and inserted the data chip into the side. He then placed the box on the ground and pressed a button. There was a sputter of light and crackle of static. A vague form blipped into view, fuzzy, but the voice was unmistakeable.

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite spot in the universe. Looking good, soldier."

Garrus could only stare for a moment. His throat had gone dry while his jaw and mandibles clenched. He gripped his rifle tightly, his focus shooting from the box to the glow of the VI's face and back again. He struggled to his feet and practically staggered over. The image was sharpening as the transmitter warmed up.

"There's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we all work together."

"Shut it off." His voice was low, dangerous.

"But I thought you'd-"

"Except the Reapers. Ever see the size of one of those things?"

"I said shut it off!" Garrus primed his assault rifle and aimed it at the transmitter box.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" James dove forward and knocked the gun barrel toward the deep woods before Garrus could fire, the echo of the rapid shot seeming to carry on much longer than it should have. His foot shot out and kicked wildly at the transmitter box until he managed to hit the power switch. Shepard's likeness blinked out. The voice stopped.

Garrus didn't move. He stood there, James' hands clamped to his wrists to keep the deadly weapon pointed in a non-lethal direction. His breath was short and ragged, his eyes burning with rage and an overwhelming sadness. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to relax. James took the gun from him when his arms fell back to his sides.

"I'm sorry," the human said, genuine concern carried in his tone. "I thought that...maybe..."

Garrus turned to look at him. "I appreciate it," he said, hesitant but honest.

"But too soon?"

"Yes. Too soon."

They walked together back to the Normandy. She had been converted into full living quarters with a small encampment spread out around. Most of the crew had still been aboard, including Chakwas who spent most of her time helping Liara study the local flora while simultaneously monitoring the changes everyone noticed they had undergone. Traynor worked with EDI to get as many of the systems back online as possible, but it had long ago been determined that the Normandy would never fly again without some serious mechanical service. A beacon had been activated, but the reality was that no one was waiting around for rescue. The air was dead of any other signal. The space beyond was a black void of unfamiliar constellations and unknown moons. There were a few other planets in the system, but EDI had yet to gather together enough intel to compare to any extant records.

They made their home in a clearing protected by a sheer rock face on one side and a cliff drop-off on another. The forest took care of the rest. Evidence pointed to them having landed in a temperate zone of this planet, which didn't say much. The green foliage was in the newness of what passed for spring and the weather comfortable and breezy. However, it had yet to be determined what the seasons were actually like here, and it was already anticipated that most of the planet's year would be hot, humid, and probably close to unbearable in the sun. Traynor was already planning to upgrade the environmental life support systems to accommodate for any possibility (on a wing and a prayer, Garrus thought, as there was no place to even salvage for new parts).

Joker waved the two men down as soon as they were through the treeline.

"What did you bring in?" he called out.

"A cranky turian!" James hollered back. Garrus restrained the urge to hit him. The human still had his gun.

"No, I mean did you bag anything for dinner," Joker clarified when they were closer. "We heard gunshots."

"I thought I saw something," Garrus put in before James could breathe a word. "Turned out it was just wind and shadows."

"That's a shame," the pilot replied, actually looking disappointed. He adjusted the brim of his cap. "Those beaver-looking things you shot last week were pretty awesome. I really want to try it chargrilled with some good ol' southern barbeque sauce we found stashed in the kitchen. You'd love it, Garrus, I swear."

The turian shook his head, amused and annoyed at the same time. "What is it with the lot of you trying to get me to eat the food? You know I-"

"Because I think you can."

EDI stepped up next to Joker. Her metallic body was dressed in a salvaged Alliance uniform and her visor was shut off. It was disconcerting to see her eyes. They were as artificial as the rest of her, but every day there was something new behind them, a glint, a spark of emotion, a shadow of feeling. She had the same tracings shimmering along her as everyone else, and the reverberation of her voice was significantly more organic.

"I have been running tests on the crew and analyzing it alongside the results Chakwas and Liara bring in regarding local flora. Many things here are similar to Earth with some minor differences. Carbon-based life that relies on oxygen, but much contains a toxicity that the human body, at least, should not be able to handle. Mr. Vega was brave enough to sample every species found in the viscinity. The results were astounding."

James did a double-take. "Wait—you mean that eating contest you challenged me to could have killed me?"

"Only if I were wrong in my deductions."

"Is this a joke?"

"No." But EDI's lips did quirk upward a little. It was disconcerting for more reasons than the fact her face shouldn't have been able to move like that. "You were deemed to have the strongest metabolism. Chakwas was on alert should the worst occur."

James muttered a slew of things in Spanish that Garrus was glad he couldn't understand. He couldn't blame him. It was bad enough that they had to learn how to live on an alien world with little hope of rescue (when they were the ones who usually charged in to the rescue), but EDI satisfied her boredom with experiments. Necessary experiments, yes, but still lacking a good deal of empathy toward another living thing. She was learning. Slowly. But she was learning.

"Humans being able to eat it is one thing," Garrus said. "I'm not human. You know that."

"And that's precisely my point." EDI held up a piece of fruit that had been one of the the first things deemed edible. "My studies have proven that everyone's biology has changed somewhat. I have yet to deduce how, but I do believe the same applies to you. If the humans are able to eat food that would otherwise be toxic to them, my theory is that you should be able to do the same."

She held out the fruit to him. It filled her hand with a lumpy roundness. Its skin was soft and slightly fuzzy with a red-orange color that was a warm brown in places. Garrus had always thought it at least smelled good, and the others liked it well enough. Sweet, they said, sweet and juicy and surprisingly filling. He had never wanted to chance the indigestion. Tentatively, he reached out and took the fruit, holding it before his face for a moment before he made his final decision. It smelled good. And he was hungry and definitely sick of the field rations. But there was no knowing...

He took a bite. A small one. Just enough to let the juice spread over his tongue while his sharp teeth worked at the meat. It was a little on the stringy side, but he knew immediately why the others preferred it so highly. As it was, fresh off the tree, it was amazing. He bit off a little more, chewed and swallowed. He would know in seconds if he was in for a bad day.

"My theory stands," EDI said once Garrus finished the whole thing. He hadn't even noticed how quickly he'd wolfed it down. "We are all changed in some way. None of us are as we were." Her head tilted in such a way that made it look like she was scowling. "It will require further study."

"Study away," Joker told her with a shoulder squeeze and encouraging smile. "Planet Normandy is going nowhere."

"And neither are we," Garrus added, licking his fingers to taste the last of the sweetness. "But don't mind me if I'm not ready to accept that just yet."


	2. Chapter 2: The Shepard VI

_Chapter Two: The Shepard VI_

He spent the night in the main battery, keeping himself awake and distracted by calibrating a gun that would probably never fire again. The truth was that he didn't want to sleep. He was exhausted. He felt stiff in every joint, and his head pounded from the effort. But he couldn't afford another dream that he wouldn't want to wake from. It was becoming too much.

He'd lost Shepard once, and he'd nearly followed her, being sucked down into the world of questionable honor and mercenary tactics where dying was as good as any other option. When she'd come back, raised from the dead by Cerberus, he'd thought she was truly invincible. The Collectors failed at taking her out. The Reapers hadn't managed, either. So long as there was a shred of genetic coding, science could apparently find a way.

But he didn't know what happened after the run to the Conduit. She hadn't been among the casualties when Cortez swooped in to pick them up. She had gone silent on the comms. Hackett even metioned that she hadn't been able to finish a sentence, that she sounded tired, out of it, that her voice trailed off... Garrus squeezed his eyes shut. No. She hadn't died. Not Shepard. She activated the Crucible. She made the Reapers leave. For all he knew, she was still on the Citadel, or back on Earth, or out in space somewhere looking for them. That's just what she did.

And they were in a system with no Mass Relay. On what was apparently dubbed Planet Normandy. And their distress beacon could only signal so far.

His eyes wandered over to his workbench. The transmitter box was sitting there, James having given it to him anyway for when he was ready. The truth was, it was so damned silent here. Only what was needed to power the electronics was actually running, so the constant thrum of the engines, of the mass effect core, was distinctly lacking. He blinked slowly, swallowed a lump in his throat, and walked over to the table. He switched on the transmitter box after steeling himself, knowing that what he would see would still hurt. It would simply lack the element of unwanted surprise from earlier.

Shepard's image stuttered into view and became gradually sharper as the generating light warmed. She stood at parade rest, her face straight forward and expressionless.

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite spot in the universe. Looking good, soldier."

Garrus wondered what all this VI had been programed with, how accurate it was intended to be. Given what he'd already heard, it pandered to the common public and was based on newsvid propaganda. There were a few ways to test that.

"Commander Shepard, what is the status of the Reaper threat?"

"There's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we all work together."

The same thing from earlier.

"What is your processing power?"

"I'm programmed to emulate the real Commander Shepard with 17% accuracy."

That didn't answer his question, but it did answer quite a few others. He switched off the transmitter and pulled out the memory chip. He held it up to the harsh white light of the workbench to get as good a look at it as possible. If all that was on this thing was an image of Shepard, a true-to-life rendering of her voice, and enough to make her be "17%" accurate. In other words, there was probably a hell of a lot of memory free that he could play around with. Well, _he _couldn't. He knew guns not software. But there were other options.

He took the chip and walked over to his terminal and inserted it into the slot. The screen was suddenly filled with coding he only understood on a basic level. What he wanted took expert skill, and Tali was probably still somewhere in the Sol system.

"EDI."

"Yes, Garrus," the AI's voice crackled over the loudspeakers. Despite all the changes, she was still partially integrated with the ship.

"I'm trying to...upgrade this Shepard VI...make it better."

There was a moment of silence as the coding on his screen flashed up and down as if someone else were reading it at lightning speed.

"Just about any change made to this software would be an improvement," was EDI's terse reply. "I can scan the Normandy's memory banks, but it would still be an imperfect model. If you are trying to 'fill the void' as Jeff believes, I suggest considering something that would bring closure rather than causing further torment."

Garrus crossed his arms defiantly and stared up at the speaker, even though he never was completely sure if EDI could see as well as hear the different parts of the ship. "And what exactly would _you_ suggest?"

There was another pause, longer. The turian cleared his throat when it seemed that EDI had mentally wandered off.

"I can think of no satisfactory means for you to achieve closure in the situation regarding Commander Shepard," she said at last. Her voice was still measured and even, but that organic thread that was starting to course through it these days seemed to thicken it with feeling. "A more accurate VI, however, would somewhat simulate the Commander's presence. She would have a searchable memory archive and be able to hold some level of conversation."

"That's all I'm asking for," the turian replied, relaxing his stance a bit. "I think." He honestly wasn't sure why he was suddenly so intent on doing this. Activating the VI was just as bad—if not worse—than the dreams he'd been having. With this, he'd be exposing himself all day and all night, but a part of him thought it would help him work through it. The constant interaction with the VI might even dull the dreams, make them vanish. Maybe it was just his longing affecting him in such a way.

"Do it," he said finally with a sharp nod.

"Very well. Analyzing."

It took several minutes for EDI to scan through databanks and security footage, message archives and the AI's own experiences, but Garrus watched intently as the screen before him filled with new and even more complex coding. There was nothing to tell him what it all meant, but the more information he watched be poured in, the faster his heart pounded. It was not Shepard. It would never be Shepard. But Joker was right. He desperately needed to fill the void until they got some damned answers.

While EDI worked, Garrus went back to the calibrations, his hobby that bordered on obsession depending on the day. Lately, if he wasn't cleaning his guns, he was down here. And if he wasn't down here...well, that was a rare thing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been to his bunk. There was one night he'd tried to sleep in the Loft. He had just laid upon the bed, staring at the tank of exotic fish that somehow survived everything that had been thrown at them (they weren't kidding when they said that VI would take complete care of the aquarium). It was soothing in its own way, but it only made him more aware of Shepard's absence. The pillows and sheets still held her scent. Her officer's uniform was still haphazardly cast over the arm of a chair almost exactly as she'd left it.

"I believe I've done what I can." EDI's voice cut through his thoughts. "Should I stay online as you test it?"

Garrus shook his head. "No, you've done enough, EDI. ...Thank you."

"My pleasure, Garrus. I do advise exercising caution, however. It is still only a VI."

The turian didn't respond. He merely went back over to his workbench and inserted the chip back into the transmitter box. The program was a little slower to boot up, but the image of Shepard that generated was more accurate. She was the right size, her face sharper and showing better the signs of war-weariness. She was in her Alliance uniform and standing straight with her arms at her sides. Still expressionless, her eyes stared ahead of her, completely ignorant of the surroundings. Just a VI.

Garrus crossed his arms over his chest again. Standing directly in front of the Shepard VI, he put all his weight on one hip and cocked his head to the side. Were he facing down any other living thing, they might have perceived it as a challenge.

"What is your name and rank?" he asked. It was a simple question that even the previous version should have been able to answer...but only to a point.

"I am Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy and captain of the Normandy SR-2."

"Your first name, Commander."

The VI continued to stare but responded all the same. "I hate my first name. I was named for my grandmother, and she hated her name, too. So far as you're concerned, soldier, I'm Shepard. Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy and captain of the Normandy SR-2."

The turian's mandibles twitched, his jaw parting a little in what passed for a smile. No propaganda VI would have been programmed with that. In fact, he doubted most people that knew Shepard also knew that tiny little fact about her. She'd told him once over turian brandy with a suicide mission looming before them. Only once. But the Normandy—EDI—remembered.

"That's my girl." His voice broke and was barely above a whisper, but the VI nodded in return.

"What's the next mission?"

"Finding out where we are," he replied more strongly, heading back to the main battery. "And figuring out how to get back to the others." He looked around the curved mass of metal to where the VI stood, still staring vacantly out into the space in front of her. "And finding out what happened to you."


	3. Chapter 3: An Earth and a Fleet

_Chapter Three: An Earth and a Fleet_

Everything lay in ruins. What was left of the human city of London was a smoking crater filled with rubble and metal scrap. Soldiers had long since turned from mopping up leftover Reapers to cleaning up what they could, drop ships converted into cargo freighters. The air was full of dust, and smoke plumed upward from wreckage that still smoldered. A full month and they had barely been able to control the fires. In an effort to do this, the whole power grid had been shut down.

The sun had broken through the haze just that morning, casting golden light on a hurting world. Small blessings.

"Creator Tali'Zorah, we have salvaged what we could of the Citadel."

The Geth Prime stood over the Quarian, his height still intimidating in the newness of the alliance. His red paint was badly scuffed and flaking. Blast marks left his armor plating charred and dented, and a hole near his hip was shooting sparks. Fresh battle wounds were not a rarity, and Tali knew there would be more. Off in the distance, a lone Banshee shrieked.

Tali ignored the shudder that went through her. "Did you find any sign of life or organic remains?" The distinction had to be made. Comm feeds from Anderson before the Citadel's explosion implied there were hundreds—if not thousands—of bodies aboard.

The Geth's facial lighting dimmed and flickered as if it were meant to emulate some form of expression. "Negative. No vitals were picked up by scanners. No biologicals survived the blast. There was no evidence of Shepard Commander or Anderson Captain."

Tali hung her head, her shoulders drooping in disappointment. Ground teams had scoured the area around the Conduit in case anyone had come back. The Geth swarmed upon the Citadel wreckage the moment the explosions stopped, collectively understanding the priority Shepard's life held with the Reaper ships intact. It didn't matter that the Old Machines retreated. They still existed. And, somehow, the Geth were the only ones with any sense about them in the immediate aftermath.

The Geth's head plates expanded outward and readjusted. Tali had learned from observing Legion that such was as close as Geth came to raising eyebrows.

"You are sad at this news," he observed. "Why?"

"I just...hoped there would be something left. We prepared for the worst. We even downloaded all the research data on the Lazarus Project from the Cerberus base because...because it worked the last time." Her hands clenched at her sides. "A selfish goal. Now, all that data is with EDI, and she's lost, too."

"I do not understand, Creator Tali'Zorah. Shepard Commander is not 'lost'. She is with us."

Tali's eyes flashed up to meet the lights through the violet haze of her mask. "Are you being metaphysical, Prime?"

"It is not metaphysics. That implies reasoning within unknowns, attributing reality to the purely conceptual." His head plates adjusted again. "What I say is simple fact. Shepard Commander is with us. She exists in our collective memory." He raised his own hand, looking down to analyze the commingling of machine and sinew, flexing his fingers as if in experimentation. "What we lack is the genetic material to rebuild her."

* * *

"Fucking _bitch_!" Jack slammed another shockwave into the ground before making a running dive for cover. The Banshee was phasing her way in a ball of biotic fury and the human, as angry and frustrated as she was, knew better than to stay in one place for long. She charged from one pile of rubble to another, hoping against hope that the lightning-quick abomination would be more focused on a destination than a target. Sometimes they got lucky like that.

What pissed her off was that these things were still floating around. There weren't any _more_ of them after the Citadel blew, but that didn't make them less a pain in the ass. The Banshee shrieked from the other side of the ruined courtyard, angry that her targeted prey was no longer where she'd anticipated, and Jack used that moment to swing her pistol over the pile of concrete she was hiding behind and take a few shots at the creature's head. Then threw a frag grenade for good measure. Then colorfully urged her teammates to "fucking take her down" before she could phase again. Pumped full of enough rounds to bring down the proverbial rhino, the Banshee screamed one last time before disintegrating into a pile of black ash.

Jack stood up when everything fell silent, checking her gun before holstering it. "Good work, everyone. Let's report back to Hackett and blow this hole."

They moved with what was left of Hammer, systematically clearing the streets of any remaining Reaper minions while a medical team moved behind to search for and treat any survivors. There was still so much work to do. London was huge, over a hundred miles at its wides point, and it was one of the most dense urban centers in the world. No wonder the Reapers had focused on it. Not only was it a rat's nest of humanity, but it had been a bastion of the Alliance, the hub of the global Embassy. The _Reapers had thought they were smart, didn't they_, Jack mused as she hopped into a truck and bounced along the broken streets of the city center. _Fucking morons_. Tactically sound but forgetting that you just don't mess with anyone—not _anyone—_on their home turf.

She heard a gurgling cry and looked up to see a bold husk charging them from the shadows. What it thought it could do against an armored truck, she had no idea...and didn't care. With an almost blasé gesture, she drew her gun, pulled the husk closer, smiling blandly as it hung there, helplessly in the air...then shot it through the head.

It had been a rough few weeks. The Citadel exploding, Shepard disappearing, the Reapers retreating while leaving the bulk of their minions behind—what that meant, no one knew. That said nothing for the morning Jack had woken up with the distinct impression that she had new tattoos, and she didn't remember getting new tattoos. Because she would have remembered. Especially if they were delicate, shimmery ones that looked like microchip circuitry. That would have hurt like a-

"Coming up on Hyde!"

The driver's voice jerked her attention to the front of the truck, and she staggered forward to the divider between his seat and the rest of the vehicle. She braced herself against the cold metal and narrowed her eyes to see through the dusty, cracked windshield. With all the chaos still going on in the city at large, Hyde Park had become a refuge, a massive encampment of survivors and occupying military from across the galaxy. For whatever reason, the remaining Reapers had preferred the stone and steel of the urban jungle to the swath of green grass, ancient trees, and deep water of the Serpentine. But no one was holding their breath. For as long as there were Reapers in any form, there was always a threat. They didn't know the numbers, didn't know the motivation in the Reaper ships leaving but the corrupted staying behind. Until the bastards were cleaned out or Shepard could be tracked down for answers, they were stuck roughing it and spending their days playing at war.

"Where's Hackett?" she demanded, spreading her feet for balance as they jerked and bounced over what had once been a stone wall.

"Comms have him at the Alliance basecamp, but he said to drop your team off here. Things are hot up that way."

Jack looked over her shoulder to the others, a few soldiers from the Alliance army and a couple of Asari commandos. It had taken what felt like forever to trust them. They weren't her students. The kids from the academy had been quickly pulled after the final push for the Conduit. They were better suited to helping protect the wounded further back while the Reapers were distracted. Jack had been moved to the front, providing barriers for the assault teams in charge of mopping up the stragglers. She'd put up a fight at first, but if there was one thing she'd learned from Shepard, is was that you sometimes had to do something you hated just to do the right thing at all.

Fuck, was she ever growing a conscience.

"Fine," she conceded eventually, watching as tents and barricades came into view. "Drop us off. But if things are so hot, Hackett would be smarter to want us with him. That Banshee has me in the mood to hurt something."

The driver smirked in the rear-view mirror. "Plenty of opportunity for that, ma'am. There's chatter that the north end of the Park is getting some action."

"Well, then, why don't you just be a good boy and take us there instead?" her voice was sweet and assertive at the same time. "I won't tell the admiral if you don't."

The smirk widened. "Yes, ma'am. The price for my silence is a pile of dead Reapers."

"That's too easy," she replied, a smile to match his. "Come up with something more exciting and you have a deal. In the meantime, just stay out of my way."


	4. Chapter 4: Bewitched

_Chapter Four: Bewitched_

He knew this place. The air was hot with life and generators that never stopped running. There was a constant _thrum_ of engines and ventilators, the buzz of electric lights, and the tinny murmur of the much-ignored galaxy news broadcasts. Garrus moved through the dim red and yellow lights, pushing his way through the crowd-humans, batarians, vorcha, and salarians all blending together into one maddening throng. Omega. It felt like home. But he couldn't say this was a good thing.

Garrus walked into the flames, not noticing the heat as he moved to the next set of doors. Music boomed. Asari snaked around poles up on the raised platform behind the bar, ignoring remarks shouted at them from drunk lowlifes below. He nodded to one of the turian bouncers and kept on moving, around the inner hub and up a set of stairs. He was heading for where Aria normally kept shop, and he wasn't quite sure why. There was a sense of need, not so much necessity but more like duty. He'd been summoned, so he was here.

The bodyguards were posted at their usual intervals. They casually held their rifles or rested hands on pistols and didn't seem to pay him any mind as he passed. At the top of the last flight, he was totally expecting the usual hand to the chest, a quick scan, a needless argument of identity just to prove that he wasn't here as Archangel and nor was he a threat. To his surprise, the couches of the upper platform were empty. No Aria. No guards. Instead, a human woman sat off to one side, her dark hair bound up into a thick bun at the back of her head, her Alliance officer uniform looking black in the unnatural light. There was a glass of an amber liquid in her hand with a small table beside her holding another glass and a couple of corked bottles.

"I expected you earlier."

There was no, "Hey, how are you?" No rushing to her feet to tackle him with a hug...and maybe a kiss if she felt so inclined. Shepard just sat there, looking at her glass instead of him, a line of concentration creasing her brow.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "I didn't expect this to be the bar in heaven."

That brought a smile to her lips as she tilted her drink back. "It's not. But it _is_ Afterlife, so I thought it appropriate enough for now."

"Oh...okay." His voice was slow, cautious. He turned his head so that he was looking at her without his visor in the way. He'd seen her so much in his dreams, but this was definitely the first time she'd spoken to him directly. So often, he was an obscure third-party observer. But this? Aside from an uncomfortable feeling of vertigo, he could have sworn he were really standing in the heart of Omega.

"But I'm glad you came," Shepard went on, gesturing to a space of empty couch beside her. "I wasn't sure you would."

Garrus simply blinked at her as he took a seat. He couldn't recall having much choice in the matter, not that he would have denied her, anyway. He didn't care how much his brain was playing tricks on him at this point. An opportunity to even think he was talking to Shepard was not one he was keen on wasting.

"I'm always here for you, Shepard. You know that."

She smiled. Her eyes finally turned to take him in, the gray full of warmth and weariness all at once. She was still tired, just like she had been the night before the Cerberus base. He'd stayed with her through the nightmares. Now, it was her turn. Her hand reached over and clasped his, her five fingers weaving between his three.

"You don't have to worry about me," she said gently, her quiet voice still somehow carrying over the noise. "I'm fine."

"Where are you?" he asked, more urgently than he'd intended. He hoped the answer wasn't going to be his mind making something up. "The Citadel? Earth?"

Shepard shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I remember the Citadel last but..." her eyes narrowed as she looked off into the middle distance, some nondescript point under the floor. "But there's a lot of Geth chatter. I'm going to be a bit pissed if it turns out that I'm dead, and that's what I'll deal with for eternity."

It was half a joke, but neither of them laughed. Shepard being dead again had crossed his mind more than once, but for once, just once, he wanted his own desire to trump that of fate and the universe. For a while, they just sat there, hand in hand and letting the booming music of the club reverberate through them both. It wasn't the most calming of atmospheres, and it definitely hadn't been where he'd ever expected to find Shepard...ever...but here they were.

Shepard suddenly inhaled a deep breath and stood, letting go of him and stepping over to the balcony edge to where she could see the entire floor below, the massive sign for Afterlife glowing above her head.

"This isn't what I'd had in mind," she said, studying the scene around them for a brief moment before raising her hand. She appeared to brush it against a flat yet invisible surface. There was nothing there, but Garrus stared in wonder when the air shimmered and seemed to pixelate from her touch. Shepard drew her hand back, quirked a smile, and touched a single finger to that same place in the air. There was a small ripple effect and a sudden rush of air. The thunder of the club vanished in a swirl of light and color, and everything around them changed.

Garrus got up to have a look. What had once been the dim-lit and dingy Afterlife was now a bright hall of white marble and chrome. The stairways curved elegantly like he'd seen in classic Earthvids, and the patrons—though still each their own species—were dressed in clothes not worn in over a century so far as humans were concerned. The women wore floor-length gowns of sweeping fabrics adorned with various tiny bits of glass or metal that made them glitter and shine. The men wore three-piece suits of black and white with bows at their throats. Tuxedos, if he recalled what Joker told him. They sat around at dining tables, chatting happily, or danced together on the dance floor to the impressive sound of a live band performing with brass and strings. The musicians were on a raised stage in the middle of the dance floor, and prominent among them was a black and glossy grand piano.

"That's better."

He turned to see Shepard dressed like the others. Her uniform was gone and replaced by a sleeveless gown of a pale blue gauzy silk. It hugged her form to her waist before belling outwards in elegant folds. Clear jewels dazzled from her throat and ears but were nothing in comparison to her smile. His heart swelled, fluttered in his chest, and when he puffed his lungs up with a calming breath, he noticed that he, too, was now dressed in one of those tuxedos, a small red rose tucked through the lapel.

"Care to dance with me?"

"Shepard...you know you... You know you can't dance. And neither can I."

She laughed lightly, a sound he was definitely sure he hadn't heard in years, and she took him by the arm and led him away from the railing. With her skirt lifted in one hand, they descended the stairs together. "I've learned a lot since I've been here. Dancing is nothing." She turned to him, one hand in his and the other resting on his shoulder after she saw that his arm was properly about her waist. Then, with a wink, she turned her head slightly toward the piano.

"Play it, Samara."

Garrus stared in wonder for a moment as fingers deftly swept over ivory keys in elegant arpeggios. The notes were soon joined by a rich alto as beautiful as the asari that carried it, her body clad in a fitted gown of black velvet. She smiled warmly at the turian around the lyrics, her brilliant blue eyes shining.

_She's a fool, and don't I know it,_

_But a fool can have her charms._

_I'm in love and don't I show it,_

_Like a babe in arms._

Shepard led the way at first, helping Garrus to find the tempo and murmuring the simple steps. With every beat, her hips swayed beneath his hand, and he quickly found himself not caring whether he could actually dance or not.

_Love's the same old, sad sensation._

_Lately, I've not slept a wink,_

_Since this half-pint imitation_

_Put me on the blink._

"I don't know this song," he whispered as they slowly moved their way around the stage. "It's...nothing I've ever heard before."

Shepard was all smiles. "Frank Sinatra," she replied, allowing herself to be spun about and caught back up again. "Earthborn over two hundred years ago. My father was fond of him."

"I see." Garrus was quickly caught up in it, his movements easy and free and Shepard positively fluid in his arms. Other couples gave them free reign of the floor as Samara's voice rang through the air with a sound undeniably pure and supported by the piano and strings. There was the faint smell of flowers on the air that did not belong to the lily centerpieces. It was spicier, like if he tasted it, it would send a tingle all the way through him. It reminded him a little of home. Out of curiosity, he bent closer to Shepard, inhaling to take in the scent of her hair. Cenolias. His mother used to grow them. And his sister after her.

_Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep._

_Love came and told me I shouldn't sleep._

_Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I._

"You look stunning, you know," he said lowly. "I used to be jealous of Kasumi. She's the only one that's ever seen you in a dress."

Shepard laughed. "It wasn't much to look at at the time. I rather hated that dress." She moved in closer and lifted her mouth as close to his ear opening as she could. "But I still have it if you're curious."

_Lost my heart, but what of it?_

_She is cold, I agree._

_She can laugh, but I love it._

_Although the laugh's on me._

Garrus felt his whole world grow hot. Shepard's breath against his face, her body so close to his. The scent of her cenolia perfume teasing him beyond all reasonable parameters. Moving with the song, he bowed low, cradling Shepard in his arms as she arched gracefully backward. Her head came back up slowly, his lowering further. His eyes closed in anticipation of her soft human lips.

Their touch never came. The dream faded while still held in thrall of a powerful tenor. Not Samara. This was a man's voice.

_I'll sing to her, bring spring to her,_

_And long for the day when I'll cling to her._

Garrus flung his hand to the side of the bed, shutting off Shepard's old alarm clock that she had apparently set to play music when it went off. He hadn't thought of that when he switched it on before collapsing into bed. Silence fell. The only light was the soft blue of the aquarium. The only sound was the filtration system and the gentle hum of the Normandy's vents.

Still groggy, the turian was in no mood to abandon his dream so soon, the first properly good one he'd had since before the attempt to take back Earth. And he still thought he smelled the perfume, the warmth of her hand in his.

_Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I._


	5. Chapter 5: Brothers in Arms

_Chapter Five: Brothers in Arms_

James paused at the elevator doors. The moment they opened, the space was flooded with sound. The mess hall echoed with music he hadn't heard since...well, since he was a kid back on Earth. Turning the corner, he found the mess empty and the doors to the main battery wide open. Machine parts were strewn through the corridor, and he was pretty damned sure he could hear Garrus singing along to "Call Me Irresponsible."

The marine poked his head into the battery for a cursory glance. The Shepard VI was switched on and projecting from EDI's old AI platform. Not from the transmitter box. It was looking at him like it knew he was there, sharp eyes focus, face expressionless. All he needed was-

"Lieutenant Vega reporting."

-that. He thought he knew how Garrus had felt the week before, now. Hearing Shepard's voice like she was standing right there was enough to scare the piss out of even the most seasoned soldier. And Vega was seasoned. He'd faced down Reapers and won. Three Brutes all at once...though he owed that more to a utility belt full of grenades...but he wasn't about to tell anyone that.

"EDI, volume!" The music diminished almost immediately as Garrus came up from the lower level wiping grime from his hands with a rag. He was dressed in turian casuals, clothes that did very little to distinguish themselves from battle armor in cut and style. There was probably a reason for it—in the shape of freakish collarbones—but what did he know?

"I came to see if you wanted to go for a hike," James said, leaning casually against the door jamb with his hands in his pockets. "EDI found a higher point of elevation within walking distance."

Garrus tossed the rag onto his workbench. "And what does an AI with mechanical legs consider walking distance?"

"Ten miles and a cliffside climb."

"Cortez doesn't have the shuttle running yet, does he?"

"Nope."

"Figures." The turian took a look around the battery to sort out the mess he had made. "I was looking for parts. Anything unnecessary that we might be able to use for something else." His eyes took on an almost pained expression. "A lot of it is from the Cerberus upgrades."

James knelt to sort through one of the piles. Most of it was basic hardware, but there were enough bits and pieces to build a whole gun. Or fit the shuttle with a better one. "Steve is going to have a field day with this," he commented with a grin.

"EDI's been feeding him a running inventory. He was already up here pretty much foaming at the mouth to get his hands on something, but I told him to wait a while. Sam had already told me she had a few ideas so—unfortunately for Steve—she's got first dibs."

The marine tutted. "Is that why he was pacing like he were waiting for the world to end again?"

"Probably," Garrus replied with a shrug. "Could be more that he wants something to keep him busy than anything else." He looked to the Shepard VI. "Can't say that I blame him."

James got back to his feet. "Exactly. Which is why I came to find you _just_ for this. You need to get out, away from the battery, away from the Normandy, and away from _that_." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the VI in emphasis. "I worry about you, and more than a little of that comes from the fear that you're going a little _loco_. I mean...Frank Sinatra. Really?"

Garrus shrugged again. "Did you know Shepard had a ridiculously extensive music collection? Most of it was her father's, I think. And just about all of it should be in a museum." He typed something into his terminal and music started to play out of those speakers only. It wasn't Sinatra. This was different, an old and tinny recording. A melody was being played on what sounded like metal strings stretched over a pie tin.

_I takes a worried man to sing a worried song._

_I'm worried now, but I won't be worried long._

To the human's shock (and horror, possibly), the turian started singing along to the trio of easy tenors with fingers drumming away at the work bench in time to the beat. Stepping forward, James simultaneously clamped a hand on his friend's shoulder and canceled the classic recording.

"Like I said. _Loco_. Get your gear—we're going."

They packed light but took precaution to be ready for a few days if necessary. Bedrolls, rations, they even armored up a bit just in case they met something unsavory in the deeper jungle. James went for his N7 greaves and a t-shirt. Garrus donned his full suit minus the helmet. It was designed to be light and keep him cool and shielded from just about everything. Turians weren't just prepared for anything because they had a focus on martial skills. They were from Palaven, a planet that by all rights shouldn't properly support life. Born prepared. Raised to expect anything. Garrus jammed a thermal clip home and holstered his assault rifle, carefully choosing a sniper from the rack in the shuttle bay. James gave him a couple of odd looks and the gentle reminder that they weren't going off to war again. The turian just looked at him, recalibrated his omni-tool, and headed outside.

Samantha Traynor was standing by Steve near the shuttle. It was propped up on rocks and military-grade crates in order to be better serviced from underneath. The grass was trampled around their work zone from the repeated foot traffic, and tools were strewn all over the place. The two engineers were talking, arms crossed and faces serious, as they assessed the damage and what they had to work with. The truth was that it wasn't much. They knew it. They all knew it. And even with all the parts in the galaxy, they still had limited fuel supply and no idea where to go to find a Mass Relay.

"Yo, Esteban, you get the beacon for us?"

Steve turned, looking slightly irritated at first but softened when he saw Garrus walking beside James. "Yeah, I got it. Did you seriously think sticking it up that tree was going to do any good?"

James made a dismissive gesture. "You said put it somewhere high. That sycamore-looking thing was the best option at the time."

"Yeah, well. I guess that's what I get for asking a jarhead to do anything." Steve's eyes sparkled with amusement. "It's over by the med kits. Make sure to put it somewhere smart this time."

"That's what he's got me for," Garrus put in wryly, saluting a little. He turned to James when the other came back with the beacon's transmitter box. "I take it EDI's got all the instructions?"

The marine shook his head. "Already passed them on. She even managed to come up with some kind of map thanks to scans the ship was able to take. They're from our level, though, so things get sketchy a couple of miles out and the higher up we go." Truth was, all they had were elevation shifts. Nothing really for particular landmarks, the jungle itself, or any potential bodies of water. They were roughing it in a way neither really had to in a long while, and this was definitely not anything close to familiar just yet. They'd kept themselves limited to within a half-mile of basecamp. Ten unfamiliar miles was a long way to go in broad daylight let alone shadows and darkness.

When they had everything squared away, they set out, heading in a northerly direction toward a thickly forested mountain EDI had pegged as being the highest point in the region. Only one part of it was barren, a sheer wall of rock that was viewable even from this distance. A walk and a climb. That was the plan.

And they had no choice but to carry it out.


	6. Chapter 6: High Hopes

_Chapter Six: High Hopes_

"Everyone is doing a fantastic job," Admiral Hackett stood on a raised platform to address as many of the Earth-bound troops as he could. Gunfire still echoed in the distance, joined by the bloodcurdling cries of the Reaper husks. They had gotten through another day, and there were definitive signs that the enemy numbers were dwindling. "It has been a long month for all of us, longer when you consider how much we had to prepare. I wanted to make sure that each and every one of you—no matter race, color, clan, creed, planet of origin, or bubblegum flavor-knew how important your contribution has been, how significantly you've helped, and how much the galaxy owes you—each and every one of you—its very existence. Damned fine job, people! Damned fine!"

His words became drowned out in the thunder of cheering. Battle-weary soldiers and civilian volunteers alike whistled and clapped, trilled, and shouted. They had taken Earth back. They knew this. Straggler husks aside, they knew this. And this was their day. Their victory.

But it was still not over.

The remnants of Shepard's squad had managed to find each other in the chaos. Jack was cheering and whooping with the crowd, Wrex beside her beating his fists together. Tali stayed back and watched the spectacle with silent skepticism. She worried that the celebrating was premature, but she also knew the value of boosting morale. She had seen the reports. Millions were dead before the army had arrived. Thousands of soldiers fell soon after. Samara and Jacob had been numbered among the dead, both fighting to the last thermal round to hold a barricade between base camp and the enemy. They had gone down fighting. They gave the sacrifice of heroes. Grunt was the only one not present, and for as long as there were gunshots tat-tatting in the north, the quarian was hopeful the krogan youth was alright.

She heard the Geth Prime come up next to her. His omnitool was activated and blazing through rows and rows of symbols and data. His eyelights analyzed the display while Tali looked on, gleaning what she could from the Reaper-augmented Geth programming.

"We have located her presence on the server," he said, his head slowly turning to her. "We await further instructions."

Tali continued to look at the coding. The Prime slowed down the display for her benefit as she stepped closer, her eyes narrowing behind her mask. What she saw made little sense to her. But the small bit she could make out showed that Shepard was, indeed, part of the Geth collective...but as a _program_ rather than a simple memory. Had she been so preserved after her visit to Rannoch? Or was it something else entirely?

Tali tore her eyes from the omnitool display to examine her own hand, a shimmering tracing running along every inch. They were all like this, now. Human, quarian, krogan, turian—even the geth were covered in delicate circuitry that looked every part the machine but behaved every bit the organic. She glanced up as the crowd broke for mess, taking the chance for a meal as also a chance to celebrate the official turning of the war still being fought. It was not yet a clear victory, but they could taste it.

The quarian turned back to the Geth Prime. "I need you to log me in."

"Creator Tali'Zorah, that will require transport to a ship in orbit."

"Just get me in, Prime." Her tone was short but tired. Frustration came through that was clearly meant to be directed elsewhere. "I have a feeling that our future is in your programming, and I need to get it out."

* * *

She found herself on the seashore, a sudden and drastic shift from the cold metal and dim track lighting of the geth's server access. It was brilliantly sunny and humid like Tali had never before experienced. Even jungle planets felt different. The breeze was cool on her face and smelled of salt. It was with a gasp that her hands flew to her gaunt, leathery cheeks.

No mask.

She looked down. No suit, either. Instead, the quarian wore a white sundress trimmed in eyelet lace, her arms and feet bare. She wiggled her toes in the sand. This was the server, she reminded herself. There was no way she could get sick or die...or even really be here. Wherever here was supposed to be.

"There you are!"

Tali was startled by the voice even more than she was horrified at her current state. Turian brandy—where was the bar when she needed one? Shepard was walking toward her in a black swimsuit with a towel tucked about her waist. In her arms was a small child, krogan, trying to show her a bit of broken seashell.

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out. The geth keep fixing my more outlandish anomalies."

"Shepard, you're...you're a program." It felt stupid to state the obvious, but there it was. There was no end to how ridiculous Tali could make herself feel.

"So are you right now," Shepard replied with a wily grin. "It is what it is. No sense being scared of it. How are the others?" She smoothly raised a hand to keep little krogan fingers out of her eyes.

Tali shrugged. "We lost Samara and Jacob. Grunt is...still fighting we think. The Normandy is completely MIA." She gestured to her friend. "What about you? How did you get here?"

"I've really never felt better," was the borderline-dismissive response. "We've been building all sorts of things—haven't we, Ashley?"

"Yep!" the little krogan piped up, free leg swinging. "Sand citadels and digging for thresher maws!"

Tali couldn't help but grin, sharp teeth gleaming. But it was almost completely wiped from her face when two other children shoved their way past her, laughing and squealing as they kicked up sand in their merry chase.

"So sorry," a rapid and panting voice said as a salarian went dashing by. "Juvenile human-turian hybrids. Impossible, really. Amino-acids all wrong. Regardless, hard to keep up with." He gave a small salute and continued on his way.

"Mordin?" Tali breathed in disbelief. Her piercing eyes focused on Shepard.

"The human woman no longer looked so carefree. Her expression was drawn, and even the krogan had become lethargic in her arms.

"And that's about the point when I realized I was dead," she commended softly, heaving a sigh. "Impossible dreams."

Tali caught herself shaking her head back and forth, back and forth, in denial of what she wasn't certain. Shepard was a program, one grossly aware of the perceived current state of things. What did the geth know? Was their collective memory influencing this fictional scenario? But whatever this was was clearly full of private thoughts, something no geth could have concocted even with Reaper sentience.

This all came from Shepard. It had to.

For Shepard to have such a consciousness as a program, she couldn't be dead. Could she?

_Could she?_


End file.
